A change would do you good
by voiceofabarmaid
Summary: Bering and Wells AU, placed in Venezuela during a time of political system change at the beginning of 2013. HG Wells, bored and successful professor of English literature, accidentally chooses to travel to Venezuela in search for an adventure that will change her life.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, Warehouse 13 is not mine, I'm just borrowing the characters for a while.

**Further**: English is not my first language and therefore I'm sorry for any mistakes I might have made. Also, I don't have a beta. And this is my first fic ever. I just had this idea and had to do something with it. So, there is a huge possibility that what follows is a crap. If you don't want to be offended, better leave now.

**To All of You Who Decided To Stay and Read**: thank you, and I'm sorry, but I regret nothing :)

* * *

The flash blinded her a little, but she did not stop smiling. Holding the Queen's hand in her own, keeping her eyes wide open and showing her teeth in a smile, Helena G. Wells let the journalists and friends to take all the photos they wanted. The Buckingham Palace was full of people: alumni, professors, and government members and their families. The Queen's Anniversary Prizes for Higher and Further Education were given today at the honours ceremony. This was the UK's most prestigious higher education award, given to those who can demonstrate outstanding work at a world-class level. And professor Wells was one of these people. She was a head of University of East Anglia's school of Literature, Drama and Creative Writing and today's award was given for the groundbreaking and inventive programmes in creative writing with wide international impact. She wasn't shy or overwhelmed, though. Helena – or HG, how they called her – could find herself in every situation. Well aware of her intellect, independence and beauty, she received the honours with pride and healthy self-esteem. _Not everyday one receives a medal from a Queen, right?,_ she thought, _And I look stunning, anyway._

Later that night in the bar she turned down a few guys who thought so too. Why do they always have to be so… slimy, she thought. And boring. She used to fancy men, few of them really. Later on she found she liked women too. She liked them better, as a matter of fact. Now she glanced over to some girls at the bar, but there was no-one she could call interesting. Facing the truth, for a long time now she could not find anyone she could call that, man or woman. And even tonight, the day of her triumph, she could not help but thinking, there is somewhere else than here, there are some others things to do.

_Let's face it, Wells,_ she thought, _you're bored_. And now, when she had everything one with her job could achieve, came another thought. _And you have to do something about it. Change something._

For so many years she has been stuck here. Working her ass off, honestly. One of the youngest professors England ever had, extremely intelligent - genius really, first a rising star of Oxford, author of remarkable articles and books. Then, a creator of an extraordinary school of literature at UEA, a fame of which traveled far beyond UK. Outside it seemed like it has cost her nothing, but she could feel now that she was tired. Tired of her work, tired of being guru of English literature, tired of writing, extremely tired of the students and people in general. And exhausted with the English winter weather.

She smiled nevertheless and talked with her friends, and laughed, and drank her gin and tonic.

At home, late at night, a little drunk and alone at last, she stumbled from the door to the desk, loosing keys and a purse on her way. She sat down at her desk and turned her notepad on. Time to move, Wells", she mumbled, and entered the site of British Airways. There was a big banner there. _"Change your life"_, it said, _"Amazing adventures in Venezuela are waiting for you"_. Without thinking, she clicked on the banner and bought the ticket. First available date of the offer was January 20th, in a three days time. _Perfect_, she thought, kicking her shoes off and throwing herself to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Helena woke up at noon with a serious hang-over, with only one thing on her mind: water. She stumbled to the kitchen, poured some to the glass and drank, contemplating the nice feeling of cold liquid running through her. She had this really disturbing dream, she remembered, something about a jungle and someone shooting her with the arrows from the trees. She smiled to herself at the remembrance of her alcohol fed dreams and directed herself to the bathroom. In a shower, still thinking quite slowly and fighting her growing head-ache, a vague recollection struck her. She did something last night. What the hell did she do? She remembered surfing the net in the search of a trip… Suddenly she felt her heart beating stronger. She left the shower quickly and rushed back to the room to check her account. There it was, an e-ticket from British Airways with destination - Simon Bolivar Airport, Caracas… Venezuela. "Venezuela?! What the fuck was I thinking?!", she said out loud, "I know nothing about Venezuela. Nothing at all." Stunned, she kept looking at the monitor. After a few long moments she reached for her phone.

"HG, isn't it a little too early for you?", the voice over the phone was deep and nice but she could tell that the man was making fun of her, "When you left the taxi you looked pretty intoxicated."  
"Pete?", she just didn't feel like joking, "Pete, listen. I bought a ticket at night. To Venezuela. I have a flight booked for Sunday."

There was a long pause. "How the hell did that happen?", her friend was choking from laughing, "You weren't that drunk! I hope."

"I don't know. I remember sitting at the bar and wishing for change…"

"Well, there you go, here is your change. Actually, it might be good for you, after all these years of hard work. How long will you stay there?"

"Wait… yes… um. Four weeks. Four fucking weeks, Pete. What am I gonna do there for four fucking weeks? Is there anything to see there at all? I know nothing about the place. Have you been there?", Pete travelled to South America and was fluent in Spanish. "Actually, how come you speak Spanish?" she realized she had never asked that question before.

"Well, you know, in my line of work one meets lots of pretty girls…"

"That's enough, thank you, I should've guessed that myself", she snorted.

"… and no, I've never been to Venezuela. But I know someone, remember my sister's boyfriend, Alejandro? The one you called "Alex", for the simplicity of things?"

"Sure, we've met last year, handsome guy."

"That's the one. He's Venezuelan."

"Really? I thought he's from Argentina. Buenos Aires or somewhere" Helena could barely remember talking with Alejandro about tango.

"Nope. He's Venezuelan, still owns an apartments in Caracas and runs a little travel agency, mainly for German tourists. He takes them to see the wild animals and landscapes and all. Maybe he could help you somehow."

Helena felt a pinch of hope. "I think I've got his number. Is he in Caracas now?" she asked quickly.

"I don't know, he might be in Berlin with my sister. You should call him now. And you should call Artie too. He will need to know you're taking a month off."

"That's what I'm gonna do. Thanks, mate."

"No problem." Pete hesitated for a moment. "HG?"

"Yes?"

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"There is nothing I can do about it", Helena answered, looking at the Queen's medal in her hand.

* * *

During the next few hours she managed to make the dean of the Faculty of Arts and Humanities, grumpy and all-knowing professor Artie Nielsen, accept the fact that one of his permanent post holders leaves work for a month during the beginning of a second semester. He was mad at first also because he hoped there would be some good publicity for the University connected with yesterday's ceremony, including some nice interviews, photos and lots of shake-hands. He hoped that the press would be interested in discovering HG Wells – a teacher, and not only a famous writer. Helena sighed with relief when he finally agreed. She liked Artie, and she knew there was a strange connection between them, like they both knew the things others did not. She could never guess why was that. For the sake of things, he even tolerated her not so good reputation. Helena had learnt during all these years of working at the University that people liked to talk. And they seemed to like to talk about people who were quite different or just distinctive. As it turned out, she was that kind of person. She was stubborn, straight-forward, she always spoke her mind and didn't care for authorities. She had a life beside the University. Considering that she didn't at all hide the fact that she hardly ever could had been seen with the same person for more than a month, she made a nice target for all the gossips. And she didn't actually mind. One could achieve so much more being recognizable. And HG Wells liked to achieve things and collect them. Actually, she was used to getting what she wanted easily.

Now, buying a ticket was easy. But going there and doing something interesting rather than staying in a five star hotel on some Caribbean island, if there are any, well, that would definitely be more difficult. She needed to find out where she was actually going and hope that Alex would be of help. She searched the Internet and found some photos of beautiful landscapes, wild animals and perfect beaches. But all the travellers' forums mentioned that Venezuela was a dangerous, socialist country. Some of the reviews said even that one should not go there at all. The rate for US Dollar was 8 Bolivars on the black market while official rate was 4. They advised being careful while making deals on the black market though, and suggested not to trust the Police or army. The president of Venezuela, Hugo Chavez, had cancer and was staying on Cuba getting a surgery. Before he left, he had marked his deputy, Nicolas Maduro. But the surgery was made a few weeks ago, and Chavez' state was still unknown.

"Perfect", she thought. "Now I need a drink".

* * *

"Come on, Alejandro. You can help me. No. You have to help me! Please?", Helena hated asking for anything.

"I've just told you, beautiful. I'm not there right now! I'm in Europe for the next few weeks. I can't go on a trip with you, and all of my people are busy replacing me." Alejandro sounded like he was having lots of fun. Helena felt helpless.

"Right. OK. See, I have these four weeks in Venezuela and I'll arrive in Caracas the day after tomorrow. I don't know a word in Spanish beside "hola" and "salut". I'm going alone. From what I heard Caracas is dangerous. What if some freak would like to know me a bit better?" It wasn't like she was getting frightened; she was just a little… uncomfortable with what she had learned.

"Well, you got that right. You shouldn't wander alone…". Alejandro didn't know Helena too well, but from what he has heard, she had some crazy ideas in her life. Buying a ticket to Venezuela three days before departure was definitely one of them. One could expect that wandering at night through the streets of Caracas might be the second. "Okay, listen. I might know someone who could help you out. If we're lucky there will be someone waiting for you at the airport and will be your guide for the whole stay."

"Thanks, Alex." She felt relieved. "How will I know it's this guide?"

"We know how to recognize gringos", she could hear him laughing.

Helena hung up and shook her head, smiling. Now she was actually happy she was drunk enough last night to buy the ticket. She liked this excitement, a scent of adventure. It may be true that she didn't speak Spanish and never in her life visited South America, but she had been trekking, even hiking before. She just had to find the backpack she had in the apartment somewhere…

A sound of incoming text disturbed her. It was just a simple message: "Done. Bring 2000 $". So, he did it, she would have a guide. She didn't exactly know what to expect, she was just hoping that the guy speaks English.


	3. Chapter 3

The early morning of her departure was cold, the weather quite English. The rain was pouring down from the sky, or a snow melted into rain, most likely. Helena sighed when she left her apartment, dragging her suitcase down the stairs; she couldn't find the backpack, after all. The temperature was below zero, but not enough for snow to maintain, and a sudden gust of wind gave her chills when she stepped outside the building. It was 4 in the morning and it was still dark, but the moon and stars were nowhere to see. She wrapped her jacket closely about herself. Pete was waiting for her by the car. He took her suitcase, put it carefully at the back of the car and opened the doors for her.

During their way to the airport he tried to teach her some easy Spanish words and they had some laugh because of HG's lousy pronunciation. Helena was glad Pete offered her a ride. Always in a good mood and with a remarkable talent to make even the worst situation a little easier to bear, Pete was a perfect companion and a good friend. HG was excited to go, but felt anxious at the same time; he was killing her anxiety with his irrational remarks and stories about his adventures in South America. When he left her at the security check, after hugging her tightly and mumbling his "have fun's", Helena felt utterly alone and a little lost. She didn't let the feeling capture her though. Instead she let the excitement run through her. Four weeks of vacation in a country with weather so unlike English and maybe some adventures – only that mattered.

She yet had to change in Madrid. During her 14 hours flight Helena studied her Lonely Planet guide and watched a movie about Iron Man, which she would have never watched on her own free will if the circumstances were different. Pete always dragged her to the action movies, while she preferred a good, independent cinema. She couldn't sleep though. She was shifting between sleep and consciousness. She was kind of dreaming of Coro desert, where she and Pete were surfing down the dunes and riding horses. When the plane started the landing procedure she couldn't actually tell if it was a dream or just her imagination.

It was half past 2 pm local time. The Caracas airport seemed small to her, but otherwise it looked fine. Tired, she rubbed her eyes while waiting for another customs and security check. When her turn came, she could only smile, for she did not understand for sake of god what the officer said. _Does no one here speak any English?_, she asked herself. _Oh, it's gonna be fun._ Luckily, she received the stamp in her passport and could continue to collect her luggage. Half an hour later, dragging her suitcase behind her, she walked through the door to the arrival area. Immediately a wave of heat almost knocked her out. She expected that, but nevertheless she felt out of breath, like she accidentally jumped into the ocean before she had a chance to fill her lungs with air. The arrival area was small and full of people whose skin was much darker than hers, though, truth to be told, she was extremely pale. There were lots of big and dangerous looking men. They stood at the other side of the barrier, waiting for the passengers. Most of them were holding cards or sheets of paper with foreign names written on them. One of them had to be her guide.

She inhaled deeply and took a few steps forward. The buzz of the voices speaking language she could not understand filled her head. Now she realized she didn't even know whom to look for, she didn't ever ask Alejandro what the name of her guide was. She stood there, undecided where to go. He told her the guide will know how to spot her, but no one seemed to take any interest of her. No one waved at her or approached her. She could not find any guy with her name on the sheet of paper. She took a few steps left, but no luck; she turned around and walked right, with the same effect. The beating of her heart quickened when she realized there was probably no one there waiting for her. The guy that Alejandro promised her was not here. And she didn't even know where to find him. What should she do now? Probably call Alex and find out what happened. Find a taxi and a place to stay probably. How she would do this, with no Venezuelan money, what were they called again, oh yes, Bolivars? Should she try to buy them on the black market or better try to use an official bank? Bank would be probably safer… Making her decision, she crossed to the other side of the barriers and continued through the hall to the area where she could see some small shops. There she would stop and make a call.

Suddenly a huge black bloke approached her. She smiled at him, hoping he's her guide, but he didn't ask who she was, just said something to her in what sounded like Spanish.

"Quiere cambiar dinero, Senorita?"

Whatever he said, he said it quick and quietly. She didn't understand a single word. The conversation seemed impossible, but yet she decided to give it a try.

"My name is Helena Wells. HG Wells. Are you my guide?"

"Dinero, Señorita. Bolívares?

"Were you waiting for me here?" Helena wasn't sure what to do. The man was big enough to crush her head like a peanut. Was this the time to start to be afraid? Who was he and what did he want?

"No hablo Ingles. Mira, tengo Bolívares, puedo cambiar." he was whispering now, but looked at her and realized she didn't get anything he said. "Dólares?" he tried again, making a characteristic movement with his fingers. Now, she got it. It was the black market guy the people warned her about.

"No, thank you." she started walking away. He followed her, continuing his monologue.

"Quince Bolívares por un Dólar, Señorita. No hay un mejor curso."

She wished the guy stopped babbling. Not knowing how to get rid of him, she just continued walking in silence, until he grabbed her arm. It didn't actually hurt, but she swallowed hard, suddenly feeling her throat dry. She turned around and looked up at his face but before she had a chance to even open her mouth, someone tapped the man on his shoulder from behind. He took a step to the side revealing a woman with a messy hair behind him. Words were said quickly.

"Mira Negro, esto es amiga mía. No necesitamos dinero, pero muchas gracias por tu oferta."

Helena couldn't make a sense of what was said exactly but the woman who the words belonged to looked surprisingly sure of herself. She smiled at the guy, and he returned the grin. _Funny what a smile can say_, thought HG. Hers was dangerous, his was full of a sudden fear.

"Por supuesto, señora Bering. No tenia mala intención, simplemente quería ayudar a esta pobrecita" Helena felt his hand leaving her arm and she saw the man taking a few steps back. Then he mumbled something what sounded like "Adiós" and fled. The woman turned her head to Helena. Her smiled changed and instead of an unspoken thread, HG saw a smirk of irony mixed with warmth. _She's laughing at me_, Helena realized. She didn't know what to say, and more important, she didn't know any Spanish word… no, everyone knows one, and this is the best she can say now.

"Gracias" – she mumbled.

The woman laughed loudly. Helena didn't hear anyone laugh like that in a long time; it was clear, pure, and sincere.

"No problem. You must be HG Wells." – the woman spoke in perfect English when she finished laughing.

Helena stared at the woman in surprise, not getting exactly what was that funny. "Yes, as a matter of fact, but how come you know that?"

"Alejandro told me more or less how my gringo looks like. I'm Myka Bering, I'll be your guide for the next four weeks."

"My guide." _Her guide_. She expected a guy, local guy. Helena found herself lost for words. It was pretty annoying and rather unusual for her. She accepted a handshake and felt a strong grip. This woman seemed to be solid as stone. "Hello", she offered.

"I see you're surprised. No need to worry. You'll find I'm excellent at this job. Now, that we're properly introduced, let's leave this place and prepare you for your trip. I see you've never been here", she cast a furtive glance at Helena's suitcase, "It's OK, we'll take care of everything. Let's go." Myka Bering was pretty straightforward, it seemed. She already started walking away to the main exit. Helena stood at the same spot, though, still surprised. Her new guide looked back at her. "You coming?"

The question was apparently rhetorical, because she continued without waiting for any response. Helena rushed after her.

Trying to catch up, she gathered herself. She was wondering if her guide was late or maybe she was standing there by the barrier the whole time but Helena didn't noticed her at all, because the was expecting a local guy. _Her job must suck_, Helena thought _If I reacted like that, what do the guys she takes care of do?_. She looked at her guide's back. She was tall, taller than Helena, and she moved quickly, taking quite big steps. Her long brown tousled hair jumped up and down as she walked. She was wearing long beige trousers and a white top. _Is she from here?_ HG wondered, _No, impossible, though her accent wasn't British and not exactly American either_. Her thoughts were interrupted when Myka stopped by the car, her car, apparently. It was an old, white Toyota truck SR5, 4x4, which looked a bit rusty in some areas. She turned around to Helena and smiled. "Good. Give me the suitcase please", she said, and without further ado, she threw it carelessly at the back of the car. Then she just moved to the front, opened the door, sat down and started the engine. Helena startled at the realization that Pete did the same a day ago, but in such a different manner. There was something boneless and loose in the way that girl moved. But there wasn't time for further thinking, so she just followed suit. Where they were going, she didn't know.


End file.
